each twenty-four hours.  By an axial revolution in the same time that the moon goes round the earth, the moon holds the same point of its surface constantly toward the earth.  If we were to add one, two, four, eight moons at appropriate distances, the result would be the same.  There is, however, another attractive influence—­that of the sun.  The sun attracts both earth and moon, but their nearer affection for each other keeps them from going apart.  They both, revolving on their axes and around their centre of gravity, sweep in a vastly wider curve around the sun.  Add as many moons as has Jupiter or Saturn, the result is the same—­an orderly carrying of worlds through space.

There lies the unsupported sun in the centre, nearer to infinity in all its capacities and intensities of force than our minds can measure, filling the whole dome to where the stars are set with light, heat, and power.  It holds five small worlds—­Vulcan, Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars—­within a space whose radius it would require a locomotive half a thousand years to traverse.  It next holds some indeterminate number of asteroids, and the great Jupiter, equal in volume to 13,000 earths.  It holds Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, and all their variously related satellites and rings.  The two thoughts that overwhelm us are distance and power.  The period of [Page 178] man’s whole history is not sufficient for an express train to traverse half the distance to Neptune.  Thought wearies and fails in seeking to grasp such distances; it can scarcely comprehend one million miles, and here are thousands of them.  Even the wings of imagination grow weary and droop.  When we stand on that outermost of planets, the very last sentinel of the outposts of the king, the very sun grown dim and small in the distance, we have taken only one step of the infinite distance to the stars.  They have not changed their relative position—­they have not grown brighter by our approach.  Neptune carries us round a vast circle about the centre of the dome of stars, but we seem no nearer its sides.  In visiting planets, we have been only visiting next-door neighbors in the streets of a seaport town.  We know that there are similar neighbors about Sirius and Arcturus, but a vast sea rolls between.  As we said, we stand with the outermost sentinel; but into the great void beyond the king of day sends his comets as scouts, and they fly thousands of years without for one instant missing the steady grasp of the power of the sun.  It is nearer almightiness than we are able to think.

If we cannot solve the problems of the present existence of worlds, how little can we expect to fathom the unsoundable depths of their creation and development through ages measureless to man!  Yet the very difficulty provokes the most ambitious thought.  We toil at the problem because it has been hitherto unsolvable.  Every error we make, and discover to be such, helps toward the final solution.  Every earnest thinker who climbs the shining worlds as steps to a higher thought is trying to solve the problem God has given us to do.